"The truth is left. The only thing possible. It emerged somewhere completely out of range."

"So far away that those clamps couldn't hold it?"

"Since that's the only alternative I can see, that's the only one I'll buy, and it's certainly a lot easier to believe than yours is... and even if your c.o.c.keyed theory is right and that ship did originate in another s.p.a.ce, any loose pieces of it would normalize in this, our normal s.p.a.ce here. The only s.p.a.ce. Matter in subs.p.a.ce emerges into normal s.p.a.ce except when constrained by impressed force to remain in subs.p.a.ce. Right?"

"Well-I-I, up to now it always has."

"Yeah, and the sun has risen every morning! You give up hard, don't you? If you're that sold on the idea, why don't you put Knu onto it."

"Do you think I haven't already? As soon as I thought of it. He hasn't got anywhere with it yet, but he says it's a fascinating subject.

"Maybe it is, for him... so, Marr, I give up. But what you and I had better do is beef up our detectors to the limit and go out and find either that alien ship or whatever pieces of it our generators did in fact chew off of it. If any. Agreed."

"Agreed," she said, and that was what they did, for day after day after fruitless day. Until, finally, they found a onehundred-pound chunk of something that was neither ordinary s.p.a.ce-flotsam nor meteoric stone nor nickel-iron. In fact, it was something completely unknown to Justician science, a metallic alloy that approached the hardness of diamond, yet was ductile enough so that its surfaces of separation from its source were surfaces of shear, not of fracture.

"I pa.s.s," Rodnar said, after he had applied all the resources of his little vessel to the stubborn stuff without coming even close to identifying it as any known metal or alloy.

"I think probably you'd better take it along with you when you go home tonight, so Knu can take it to a metallurgical laboratory and get it really worked on. It may even need an atom-separator"

"Uh-huh." Her fine eyes clouded.

"And I think I'd better stay home and work with him, don't you? If this piece of metal turns out to be what I'm sure it is... well, about all you'll be doing for a while will be automatic, won't it? Combing a larger and ever larger sphere of s.p.a.ce for that monstrous alien construct that I'm sure is nowhere in it."

"Frankly, I'm beginning to wonder, myself, but we've got to be sure... so you would be a lot more use at home than out here... computing, for instance, just how big my searchpattern will have to be to make the probability approach unity that said alien construct is nowhere in our normal s.p.a.ce." She nodded.

"That certainly should be done and I'll do it... and you be awfully careful, Rod, especially going to visit Starr-and leaving. But I suppose she's keeping you posted on this horrible psychic mess."

"Yes." Rodnar's face hardened, his eyes became gray ice.

"She thinks there's something more going on than just the usual rounding up of pacifists, psychics, and such and feeding them to the eagles, but she can't get an inkling as to what it is. When she does, I won't be here anymore. Knu and I both are going to take steps."

"Uh-huh, so I hear, but you want to remember this job is extremely important too, because if there can possibly be another s.p.a.ce, and it's where X-storms come from, we've got to know about it. Soon with the search-pattern, my pal my pal, huh." And on with the search-pattern it was. Rodnar searched the rest of the day, and Marrjyl went home to her Knuaire and stayed there, the chunk of alien metal going with her, of course. Rodnar searched, and went to visit Starrlah, and searched, and she came to visit him, and very good times were had by both-the only drawback being that all these meetings had to be the very subest possible of subrosa meetings. And as the days piled up into weeks the already tremendous sphere of s.p.a.ce that did not contain the invading subs.p.a.cer-if it was a subs.p.a.cer-grew larger... and larger... And ever larger... When the weirdly torn, fantastically cut-up Explorer reached base on Galmetia she created a sensation. Maynard, after one good look at his tri-di, alerted his pilot and dashed for the roof. In one minute flat his 'copier was tearing a hole in the air for the s.p.a.ceport with its sirens ululating and its big red lights flashing. He landed. He exchanged brief-very briefgreetings with the leaders of the expedition. He inspected the engine-rooms. He crawled through, over, and around those frightful rents and queerly twisted, grotesquely coiled strips of ultrastubborn metal. For the first time in his life he was completely at a loss. And the engineers-knowing so much better than Maynard could the actual power of those melted-down engines and the actual physical strength of Leybyrdite, the ultimate alloy- were even more at a loss than Maynard was. Without saying another word, Maynard jerked a thumb at Deston and led him into the 'copier, which thereupon took off for the office. Maynard's face was gray and drawn, he looked as though he hadn't slept for a week.

"It isn't that bad, chief," Deston said, quietly.

"A lot of money down the drain-but we have lots more. And n.o.body was hurt. And we learned a lot."

"Maybe you're right. But what are we bucking? Tell me."

"Okay, but while you're listening bear one fact in mind. We're going back there if it costs DesDes a billbuck and whether or not, after you've all heard the story, MetEnge has had it."

"Don't be a nitwit. As long as you stay in we will, no matter what kind of new ship you want. Fifty-fifty. Go ahead."

"Okay," and Deston began his story. He was about halfway through it when they reached Maynard's private office.

"Hi, Doris." Deston smiled as he held out his hand.

"Hi, Babe." She shook his hand warmly.

"I'm awfully glad you all got back safely." Then to her boss, "Full record, Mr. Maynard, of course. Typed precis. And of course you're out."

"Yes. To anything except the absolute end of the world I'm out, yes. But you may use your own judgment." When they were seated in his inner office, Maynard went on, "Start over, Deston, for the record. I want to hear it over again, anyway." Deston repeated and then continued. He spoke without interruption until he came to the battle with the generators. He had to go over that repeatedly, from every angle Maynard could think of. He had also to go over and over the rotation from subs.p.a.ce into another s.p.a.ce-Second s.p.a.ce-and the return to First s.p.a.ce. At the end, Maynard sat silent for minutes, his eyes glazed and the fingers of his right hand drummed soundlessly on the soft plastic of his chair's arm. Finally he spoke.

"What you actually did, then, was teleport the whole tremendous ma.s.s of that ship out of s.p.a.ce and through subs.p.a.ce... into-what? Dammit, man, how can there possibly be two different s.p.a.ces."

"It can't be explained. It just is, that's all. Dr. Adams has an explanation, but only he understands it."

"You said you were going after the unknown... you certainly found it... and you wonder if we want half of that? You must have developed tremendously since I last saw you. All of you."

"That's the prize understatement of the year. It's reasonable enough, though, when you think about it. We'd all been hiding it, you know, but when we began pooling it-dragging out of each other everything everybody had-well, what would happen, chief."

"Could be, at that... and that relieves me no end... We need you, believe me." Maynard had shed ten falsely added years in as many minutes.

"When do you want to get to work on the new ship-as though I didn't know."

8 - BLOWUP.

The message that broke up Rodnar's long search for the alien starship did not come from Starrlah, but from Knuaire.

"Rod!" came the hard-driven, sharply-tuned thought.

"Give me your coords-we're coming out in the yacht." Rodnar gave them.

"But what's up, Knu?"

"Ps-ss-ss-sst! No more. The klant's in the fan. I don't know whether anybody can tap this thought or not and I don't want to find out. Be seeing you." The big luxury ship appeared, the little speedster was 'ported aboard. Then the yacht went somewhere else-fast. Only then did the Spathian relax.

"Hi, Marr," Rodnar said then, to supplement the mental greetings that had gone before.

"Okay, Knu; spill it."

"What started the whole blowup was your speedster, when you 'ported out of the s.p.a.ceport, you know. You didn't slot your token."

"Of course I didn't. How could I."

"There wasn't any way to, I guess, at that, but did you ever see a completely frustrated robot? For the first time in a long and errorless career not being able to account for a subspeedster left in its care." The other two laughed, then Rodnar whistled expressively.

"No, I never did... I'm not sure I can even imagine it. Robots simply don't make mistakes. They can't."

"That's right. Or lie. So when they got that robot back into working order again it proved, by every recorder in the place, that your subber was still in its stall, and to keep from blowing all its banks, I guess, it stuck to that story regardless. That, as you can imagine, blew the fan and the klant both clear into orbit. It not only brought psionics out into the open, it jammed it down everybody's throats. Then, when all the stuffed shirts of Slaar, Orm, and Spath were denying it in public and in private wondering what in h.e.l.l they could do about it-they hadn't yet decided to make eaglemeat out of all psis everywhere-I took that metal to Sonslehn Sleht for a.n.a.lysis and physical test. When he found out how much rhenium was in it, he."

"Rhenium? That's just a chemical curiosity, isn't."

"It's more than a curiosity wherever that stuff came from, believe me. There's more rhenium in that hundred pounds of alloy than has ever been found before in all known s.p.a.ce."

"But what's it good for? No, cancel that-if it's obtainable in quant.i.ty, and it must be, somewhere, the question would be, what isn't it good for."

"That's better. Its physical properties are so utterly fantastic that the Purps' snoopers wouldn't believe their own spyinstruments. They were sure that Sleht was faking the whole test for a gag. so he 'ported aboard here a couple of milliseconds ahead of a blaster beam. Reruns confirmed his results, of course, and right then everything went to h.e.l.l in a handbasket. They knew, then, that it was something we psiontists had developed strictly on the QT, and the Council of Grand Justices began to froth at the mouth. All psychics were declared eaglemeat, with an added feature. You and I and Mart, Sleht, Wayrec, and a few others-the top psiontists of the Inst.i.tute-are worth ten thousand junex alive or two thousand dead."

"But how... ?" Marrjyl began, without thinking, then went on, "Oh, of course."

"Of course," Rodnar agreed.

"With the methods of suasion they use, it wouldn't take the Purps long to find out who the prime operators of the Inst.i.tute are... thank the Powers that n.o.body outside us three has any inkling whatever that Starr has any connection whatever with psionics."

"I say amen to that, my love," came Staff lah's thought into their threesome, and after a moment of mental snuggling with Rodnar she went on, "I'm done working for today and I'm home and I've set full-ply psionic guards so can I join you now in person."

"Come ahead, sweetheart," Rodnar said, and she did, and for half a minute or so the snuggling was satisfyingly physical. (Marrlah and Knuaire both knew that Rodnar and Starrlah had joined lives, and, of course, why they had not registered that fact.) Then, "I suppose it was you two who organized the exodus? I haven't been paying much attention, you know."

"I know. We helped, yes..." Starrlah snickered.

"They a lot more than helped, Rod. And you ought to've been there-in moving stuff out of apartments they actually 'ported things right out of Purps' hands. Talk about frustrated robots." Rodnar grinned and c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at Knuaire, who said, "Yeah. With everything blown wide open anyway, we figured that the bigger and more obviously impossible we made it, the better. But the whole thing is rolling under its own power now."

"Where to? Not Psi, surely-that Garshan sucker-trap'?"

"And become a steady source of eaglemeat? Hardly-not by several hundred cl.u.s.ters of suns! A new planet. Top secret. 'Hope,' we call it. It's to be developed as a completely independent, completely self-sufficient planet of psiontists."

"Just like that, eh?" Rodnar objected.

"How many generations d'you think that'll take."

"Not as many as you think," Knuaire replied, unperturbed.

"You see, there'll be no ordinary psychics...

"And no mystics," Marrjyl broke in, "and especially no mysto-pacifists, of any kind, age, race, or color."

"They'd all rather go to Psi, anyway," Starrlah explained.

"Those of them, that is, who'll go anywhere. Most of them, like that obnoxious Daughtlanarr Monarr of Tsalk, are going to revel in becoming martyrs in as spectacular a way as possible." Rodnar scowled.

"Could be... They seem to figure that if they sit on their hands long enough everything they don't like will all go away-and how they figure that torching themselves to death will help matters any has got me completely baffled. But how many real, genuine, indubitable psiontists do you think there are." Knuaire grinned and both girls laughed aloud.

"You'll be surprised, Rod," Starrlah said.

"Everybody was. Astounded, in fact. When everything broke loose all over s.p.a.ce all the thought-channels were absolutely jammed with psiontists who'd been hiding everything they had. There'll be at least a quarter of a million just from Slaar alone, in almost a thousand ships. With everything they'll need." Rodnar's scowl scarcely lightened.

"I'm glad your thought was 'They'll' and not 'We'll,"' he thought darkly.

"All three of you knowespecially you, Knu, as a top-bracket theoreti- cian-what will happen if we desert civilization and devote all our efforts to developing a purely psionic civilization of our own; It'll be either an outright collapse into savagery or, very much more probably, an infinitely worse tyranny-that of the strongest group to emerge from the catastrophe, which would be the Garshans. And I'll bet five to two in hundreds not only that there aren't any Garshan psiontists on our side, but you've got full psionic blocks set against any pattern whatever of Garshan thought." Knuaire held up a circle made of thumb and forefinger and said, "Check to here. Go ahead," and Starrlah added, "I'm glad, Rod. I was hoping you'd think that way. I'm almost sure what you're going to say next."

"You probably are. In spite of its glaring defects, the Tyranny has worked, after a fashion, for a long time, and it is getting better. Civilization has advanced tremendously and is still advancing. Ability is recognized, advancement in status is not only possible, but common, and there is no official racial discrimination at all, not even on the Council. And the present Tyrant, His Magnificence Ranjak, isn't too bad an egg, as Tyrants go and in his own poisonous way."

"He isn't either poisonous." Starrlah the FirSec came strongly to the defense of her boss.

"He's nice, and I ought to know. He's the best Supreme Grand Justice the Tyranny's ever had."

"I think he is, too," Rodnar agreed.

"Not that that's saying too much in his favor, at that, as far as the good of the whole human race is concerned. But-now let's imagine that every Grand Justice in the Council is a Garshan, with Laynch sitting on the throne as Supreme Grand Justice Tyrant. What kind of a book would you make as to how many years it would be before everybody with a numbereverybody with any status at all, clear down to and including Status One Hundred-would have to be a Garshan." No one of the three answered the question, no one seemed surprised that he had asked it, no one disagreed with his thought. Instead, Knuaire said, "We're pretty much in agreement on the basic situation, I think. The question is, what should we do about it."

"I won't say I haven't got any ideas," Rodnar said, "but since you're the theoretician they probably aren't nearly as good or as complete as the ones you've already developed. So over to you."

"Thanks. It's too soon, of course, to specify any details, but the first broad division into three main lines of effort should be as follows. One group, headed possibly by Manjyl and myself and certain administrators and others, should continue, systematize, and intensify the work we have been doing haphazardly; the work of supporting actively the present Tyrant and his Council of Grand Justices.

"Second, the much larger but much more routine task of settling, developing, and guarding our new planet Hope. Marr and I both feel that this segment of the total task is already in thoroughly competent hands.

"Third, most difficult of all and least susceptible to either a.n.a.lysis or suggestion, and yet probably most important of the three, it is the considered opinion of the theoreticians that you two, Rodnar and Starrlah, are best qualified of us all to head up a group of your own choosing whose task it will be to develop whatever techniques and/or procedures may prove necessary to effect changes you may think desirable in the government of the Justiciate-with whatever that may imply."

"Great Powers, Knu, have a heart!" Rodnar exclaimed, even as a shielded thought flashed through his mind. Knuaire alone-not a group-had come up with this idea, for none of the other theoreticians knew of Starrlah's entry into the psionic group. But it was logical, so when the Spathian paid no attention to his protest, he turned to Starrlah and said aloud, "And he calls himself our friend." That night in bed, after attending to certain matters of urgency, Rodnar and Starrlah lay in each other's arms with their minds tightly fused and thought and thought and thought. They considered the Justiciate and its Tyranny-element by element, planet by planet, government by government, and faction by faction. Rodnar didn't know much about these latter, but Starrlah did-what she didn't know about them simply was not worth knowing. Rodnar learned what she knew, she learned what he knew, and together they a.n.a.lyzed and cla.s.sified and differentiated and tabulated their total information. And next morning, before they got up, they went over all their data again; this time synthesizing, recla.s.sifying, integrating, retabulating, and computing. And in four more night-andmorning sessions of intensive study, they worked out a tentative, first-approximation plan of action. They wanted to be together all the time, but of course that simply was not in the wood. The price on Rodnar's head was now twenty thousand junex, so he had to be very careful indeed. And she had to stay with His Magnificence, for three excellent reasons. First, since Sonraththendak Ranjak himself was in all probability essential to the success of their overall plan, his life would have to be guarded as only a top-bracket psiontist could guard it. Second, as the Tyrant's First Secretary she was in the best possible position to know everything that was going on throughout the Justiciate. And third, "But could you quit the old boy, even if you wanted to?" Rodnar asked.

"I don't know..." Starrlah grimaced.

"The point never came up. No high-up ever wants to quit... not ever... but if anybody ever did I'm afraid he wouldn't like it and it'd be a case of eaglemeat."

"That figures..." Rodnar paused in thought, then went on, "But you can take a vacation, can't you."

"I'm supposed to have three weeks a year, but I'm 'way overdue and he hasn't said anything about it, and neither have I, of course. That's the bad part of having such a solid in with him... He'd give me one, I think, but he might not like it and we simply can't afford to lose one bit of the ground I've gained... No, the smart thing is for me to be so overworked that he'll take pity on me and insist on my taking a long 'rest. Three weeks of starvation dieting, with a couple of hours every evening of hard swimming and of course a gradual change in cosmetics toward the corpselike, I'll be the haggiestlooking hag you ever saw." Shaking his head in wonderingly admiring amazement. Rodnar held her out at arms' length and examined her for a long half minute. He whistled softly and said, "Starr, sweetheart, all I can say is, you'll simply never know how glad I am that you're on my side and not the other." She chuckled happily, then laughed aloud.

"And all I can say is, look out, Garsh! Here we come-the Rod-Starr simulation of an irresistible force." On Galmetia, work had begun immediately on the new subs.p.a.ce and transspatial giant-for it actually was entirely new, so small a portion of the original Explorer being usable as to barely warrant mention. A conference of the eight psiontists had preceded the actual beginning of detailed planning. Upton Maynard's inner sanctum was the scene of the gathering, with President Maynard himself, representing MetEnge, in attendance; but with Doctor Andrew Adams in charge. Although the destruction of the subs.p.a.ce liner was practically instantaneous, the superpsiontists had observed and recorded an incredible amount of detail. All of it was placed in a pool of common knowledge. FirSec Champion was there-now Mrs. Eldon Smith, wife of the second-in-command to the big boss-but still Doris Champion for business purposes. She was seated un.o.btrusively to one side behind the most advanced steno-recorder ever built. Hers was the task of recording every thought, every suggestion poured into that psionic reservoir. An uninformed, nonpsionic observer would have considered the entire proceedings madness. Not an audible word was spoken. The nine people were seated or sprawled in luxurious contour chairs in whatever position they found most comfortable; some from time to time rose and paced the length of the big room. There was no sound save the barely discernible stutter and click of Champion's electronic wizard. Doctor Adams rather formally opened the meeting, but from that point on formality vanished. Fortunately for the record they usually avoided simultaneous input; but with the speed inherent in thought transference, an amazing interchange of ideas took place in a very short time. Despite this, hours, pa.s.sed before they broke for refreshments. The details of the session would make interesting reading for students of the era, but since FirSec Champion's very complete minutes are available to researchers, it is enough to say that the plans which emerged from that conference laid the groundwork for a greatly improved interspatial ship. It was the first of several such meetings, but when the skilled staff at MetEnge, spurred by an outlay of funds which for all practical purposes was limitless, began to give their thinking concrete form, construction moved ahead with fantastic speed.

9 - ORKSTMEN.

It did not take Starrlah three weeks to arrange for a vacation. It did not take even two. Supreme Grand Justice Sonrathendak Ranjak was, as Rodnar had said, a good enough egg; particularly in his personal as opposed to his political relationships. And Starrlah liked her boss, both as a person and for the way he treated her and the others near him-even though, like those others, she was afraid of him and was very careful indeed never to antagonize him in even the smallest way. In these personal relationships Ranjak was considerate and, in his own mind at least, perfectly fair, and he liked his present FirSec immensely. Not s.e.xually-for that business he preferred blondes and/or redheads, which was why his FirSecs were always brunettes-but for her ruthless but velvety smooth efficiency, her poise, and her all-but-eidetic memory... and for the way she had handled the matter of the Masked Marvel. Her actions during the X-storm crisis had put her in with himbut solid. Ranjak was also smart, able, and observant, if he had not been he would not have lived to half his age. Wherefore in just eleven days Starrlah was on vacation and was eating everything she could reach. Then, after announcing that she was going to Gafia, so far that it would take twenty-six junex worth of postage stamps to mail her a postcard, she and Rodnar 'ported themselves aboard Knuaire's yacht and proceeded to make themselves look enough like Garshans to pa.s.s a casual inspection. Starrlah needed only a false nose and a skin-dye job, Rodnar had also to have his hair dyed black and get a pair of almostblack contact lenses. These lenses bothered him for a long time, but he finally got used enough to them so that he could endure wearing them during normal waking hours. The adventurers did not do anything about their numbers except cover them with cosmetic paste. Not so much because the removal or alteration of a Citizen Number was a capital offense, princ.i.p.ally because Starrlah would have to have her number, precisely as it now was, the minute her vacation was over. She could not go back to her job or to any other place of status without it. Also, numbers would not matter if they did not show, the same argument applied to them as to the disguises as Garshans, which did not have to be too good. The Slaarans were going to a Garshan un'statland; in which, since none except Garshan un'stats were to be expected, none else were looked for. And of course they could not possibly pa.s.s any kind of a psionic inspection anyway. All they could do should this emergency arise was to 'port away from any such inspector, instantly and far. In due course, then, Rodnar and Starrlah, taking with them a young couple of psiontist-trainees, 'ported Rodnar's subs.p.a.cer into a cavern on the far side of Garsh's first moon and put out all the screens the little vessel had. Then, ultracautiously, they began their survey, which took quite a while because their requirements were several and strict. They needed a couple of Garshan un'stat complements, at least semipermanently established in some ordinary, routine job, who lived and worked within point-blank range of Garshion, the capital city of Garsh. Within a hundred miles, since that was about as far as they could read accurately the faint sidebands and even fainter leakages of thought that they would have to have. This pair must be young, and the nearer they were to the Slaarans in size the better. They could afford to use some psionic compulsion, but not too much. And finally, the girl had to be in her first pregnancy, but not too far enough along in it so the condition showed. This was the toughest requirement of all, for at age twenty-three Tellus-equivalent a female Garshan un'stat-as the Slaarans learned much laterwas supposed to be having her third or fourth child.

They finally found a couple, each of whom was close enough to specifications, a couple of orkstmen living in a stone-walled, sheet-iron-roofed cabin in the middle of a mile square field of rich, livestock-covered pastureland only seventy-five miles from Garshion and its Edifice of Garsh. They 'ported their naked selves, then, into this cabin, and 'ported the previous occupants-without their soft leather breech-clouts and moccasin-type shoes-out into the speedster on the moon, where the trainees took charge of them. Killing this couple was not in order, when Rodnar and Starrlah got ready to leave the planet, the two natives would be returned unharmed to their cabin. Not only unharmed, but also with exact memories of having done almost everything that the two Slaarans had in fact done in their places. Except for a deluxe bed, the inside of the cabin was crude and bare. There was a shower-bath and a sink, each with hot and cold running water and a steel bucket half-full of detergent. There was a flush toilet of sorts. There was a rough table of planks, upon which were two pottery bowls and a twogallon jug. There were two three-legged stools. There were a couple of shelves of tools of various kinds-knives of a dozen different shapes and sizes, grinders and whetstones and hones, axes, hatchets, killing blasters, and so on. Driven into the walls between the stones there were wooden pegs, from which hung other, larger implements of the orkstraising business. Centered at the end of the room, opposite the door; there was a gas-burning stone fireplace with a big iron kettle. To the left of the fireplace was the king-size bed already referred to, a splendid affair made of resilient foam and steel springs and covered with soft-tanned orkst-skins with the hairfur left on. To the right of the fireplace was the heavilyinsulated door of a gas-fired walk-in deep freeze. The two interlopers, after checking the empty garments for life and finding none-the whole place was scrupulously clean-put them on. Then Starrlah ran lightly across the room to the fireplace and sniffed appreciatively at the pot, in which a thick stew simmered.

"Well, Brosk, we eat, anywys," she said aloud, in Low Garshan. They had both been studying that language for weeks, they were both good enough at it so that, with a little help from psionics now and then they could get by.

"This here glop smells mighty good. The boss may be a grock, but he ain't no belly-robber. I'm hungrier'na b.i.t.c.h whanker with nine cubs, so let's get to scofin', huh."

"Yah. Me, too. I c'd scoff tha tailpipe right off'na ten-yearold skink. Dig in, Wilny." Taking the bowls off the table, they ladled them almost full of the richly aromatic stew. Then, after a short cooling period, they dragged the very heavy stools up to the table, sat down opposite each other, and began to eat. Raising the heavy, clumsy bowls to their mouths, they drank off as much as possible of the liquid; then dug in with their fingers and their razor-sharp, needle-pointed knives, swigging by turns the while the mildly fermented beverage from the jug. After eating they washed their hands, faces, and utensils; picked up the tools of their new trade, and went out to get to work at their new job. Orksts were highly-bred domestic animals larger than sheep but smaller than cattle, and similar to neither. Their flesh, in prime condition, was very fine eating. Their hair-fur-long, thick, extremely fine stuff somewhat resembling nylon- in prime condition was very useful and very valuable, especially so in the full pelt. The trouble was that the peak of prime for each animal occurred only once in its life, was unpredictable, and lasted for only a little over one day. Thus, orkstmen were well toward the top of all un'stat workers. They had to have intelligence enough and manual dexterity enough to be expert skinners and good butchers. Also, they had to be able to learn how to tell just when each orkst was "priming up." The better the orkstman, the less subprime meat and pelt he put out, too much subprime stuff and he fed the eagles. That afternoon Rodnar and Starrlah killed, skinned, and dressed twenty-three prime orksts. That evening they began to probe, as delicately and as carefully as they possibly could, into the lowest-status minds in the Edifice of Garsh. Next day they worked; next evening they probed, and so on. At noon on the fourth day, Rodnar punched the "pickup" b.u.t.ton and the owner came out, driving a twenty-five-ton reefer truck. He was about five-foot-eleven, was unusually fat for a Garshan, and had small, piercing eyes. He was of Status Ninety-Nine-next to the very bottom-and completely nonpsionic, so it was easy to make him see with his own eyes that he was dealing with the two people who belonged there. He went first to the pile of skins and riffled through them, his big, fat hands surprisingly deft and sure.

"Hunnert 'n' fourteen. Pretty fair stuff, Brosk."

"Pretty fair, h.e.l.l," Rodnar-Brosk said, conversationally.

"Hunnert 'n' fourteen top primes."

"Tell when I spread 'em. Lotta pelt; didn' know's ya c'd make out on all that extry stock, but I see ya took tha chains offa yer wildy. Got 'er knocked up 'n' workin', uh."